The Object of My Obsession
by cosmogirl7481
Summary: What happens when you're not the only one watching? A cute and slightly creepy love story with a twist. Not twisted. For my friend Laura1025's birthday because I creepy-love her so much.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Birthday Laura!**

**I love you SFM and I hope you enjoy this little tongue-in-cheek love story.**

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**Chapter 1**

The sounds of the coffee house are going on all around me. People talking over soft acoustic music, chairs scraping against the tile floor, the bubbling of espresso shots being pulled, and the screeching of milk being steamed.

But I don't hear any of it.

Not really.

Not when the person steaming the milk is holding every part, every single piece of my attention.

Goddamn.

He's so fucking beautiful.

Well, I think he's beautiful.

He's worked here for eight months.

He works the morning shift three times a week. The other two nights, he closes. I think he must live in the city because I know he takes public transportation. I've never seen him in a car in the mornings I wait for the coffee shop to open. Or late at night while I'm waiting for them to close up.

He's a friendly barista. People seem to like him. He's friendly in a shy sort of way. Well, sometimes I think he's shy. He does seem to enjoy talking to all the customers waiting at the bar for their drinks. It doesn't bother me, really. Except when he's talking to pretty girls.

Like he is right now.

But I'll just breathe in deeply while he chats with her. I'll pretend for just this moment that it's me standing up there talking to him. Laughing at whatever it is he's saying to her. I'll pretend that I'm not here at the long communal table across from the bar watching him from a distance. Normally, I would sit at one of the small private tables because I'm shy and I have personal space issues. But this seat is the best seat in the house to watch him. It's a perfect view, really. I can just hide behind the screen of my laptop, pretending to write, pretending to work on something important. When really there is nothing important.

There's just me.

Watching.

He's twenty-two. Just one year older than me. I only know his age because I overheard him say it to someone six months ago. I think he's in school. I've seen him sometimes before his shift starts. He sits at the corner table away from the crowd, and he studies, he types, he writes and reads. And he's left-handed. I only know that because they way he holds a pencil is just too fucking cute. Is it possible that there is a perfect way to hold a pencil?

The answer is yes.

Because the way he does it is definitely perfect.

Oh, good. The girl is leaving.

_Finally._

He probably only flirts with her to get good tips.

But come to think of it... I always give him a two dollar tip on a three dollar drink, and he's never once flirted with me.

I suppose that shouldn't matter, though. I would probably die if he ever flirted with me. I would just expire right there on the floor in front of the bar.

Yes, it's a good thing he never flirts with me.

I jump as someone pulls the chair out right beside me. I'm just about to close the blank open document on the screen, but then I quickly remember that my laptop background is a grainy picture of him working behind the bar that I creepy-snapped with my phone while no one was looking.

Yes.

The blank, white screen is less embarrassing.

"I know what you're doing," the soft, deep voice beside me says so lowly only I can hear it.

"Moving to a different seat," I say, not even bothering to look at him. Who is this guy talking to me like he knows me? Does it look like I want anyone to talk to me? I should have put on those hipster headphones my parents got me for my birthday.

"Don't do that, Bella," he murmurs. "If you move, you won't be able to watch him anymore. That's what you're doing, isn't it? Watching him? I know you're always watching him."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I feel the flush cover my face, the pink burning my cheeks like a flame. And I turn to my right where he's sitting, and I'm lost momentarily in the depth of his green eyes, and the fact that his cheeks are just as pink as I imagine mine to be.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

I'm talking, but at the same time, I'm staring at this...this _man_. With his angled jaw and his hair that looks like autumn. All red and brown and warm. He reminds me of spiced apple cider. You know, if spiced apple cider was ridiculously attractive.

"Really?" He smirks.

Not warm.

Forget that.

He's an asshole.

"Really. I don't know who you are, but I assure you, you know absolutely nothing about me."

He smiles, his hand reaching across the table, his fingers playing with a napkin in the center.

"That's...debatable."

"No, actually it's not," I snap. "To debate means to engage in a discussion about opposing viewpoints."

Damn.

I am awesome.

I didn't even have to think about that.

"I believe we have opposing viewpoints."

"It doesn't matter if we have opposing viewpoints. I am not engaging you in anything. Period. End of story. So, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to move to another table."

His demeanor is so smooth, so easy. His smile hasn't wavered once.

"There's not another open table," he says, turning toward me. I can see the printed black t-shirt under his hoodie. And the tight denim covering his legs...and manly area. I'm aroused by someone wearing jeans that tight, but equally pissed off that I notice. "And even if there was, I know you wouldn't move. Do you know why I know that?"

"No, and I don't particularly care."

"You wouldn't move because if you moved, you wouldn't be able to watch him. And we both know that you're not going to stop watching him."

_How does he know these things about me?_

_How does he know anything about me at all?_

"I'm not watching him!" I insist. I blatantly lie. "Stop saying that. Someone might hear you."

I nervously look around to make sure that no one is looking.

"No they won't. And besides, even if they did, nobody in here cares about what we're talking about. Least of all the asshole behind the coffee bar."

His words are sharp. They sting like a slap across the face. And the thing is - I don't know if I'm more upset because he seems to know my secret or because he's insulting the object of my obsession. No, not obsession. I'm definitely not obsessed. Just curious. He's the object of my affection.

"He's not an asshole," I whisper-hiss. "You don't even know him."

"I'd say I know him just as well as you do. Nah, fuck that. I know him better."

"That's impossible," I say, but in the back of my mind, I wonder. Is it possible?

Oh, god.

What if he really does know him?

What if they're like...like friends or something?

"I know he's a douchebag who's not worthy of your time and attention. And if I'm being honest, you seem to give him all that you have of each."

I gasp, indignant, and more than a little pissed off.

"I don't give him _all _my time and attention."

He laughs.

"Sure you don't."

"I don't."

"But there's something I don't understand..."

His gaze that had wandered just a moment before is now narrowed on me.

"What's that?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"I don't...I don't understand this. For as much as you see, for as much as you study and observe, how is it even possible that you miss so fucking much?"

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

I find the idea that I've "missed something" hilarious and I laugh out loud. The sound is possibly the most unattractive thing I've ever heard, but I can't stop. And more than that, I don't care that people can probably hear me...or see me. Even though whenever I'm here, I'm so focused on blending into the background, hoping no one notices me.

It's odd, this feeling of not caring.

I look at the man next to me, and he's smiling. And his smile is soft and easy like his look. It puts me at ease.

"You're pretty when you laugh," he says without a trace of sarcasm. "You should do it more."

"I laugh," I insist. Even though when I think about it, I know it's not true.

"I never see you laugh."

I stop.

His words settle.

"When do you...see me?"

He blushes and clears his throat.

I watch him shift in his seat nervously. And this – this is something I understand. His discomfort resonates with a very real place inside me. I live my life on the outskirts of comfort.

"Whenever you're seeing him," he says quietly, nodding his head in the direction of my crush.

"Oh."

I look down, then up, then back down again.

"Yeah," he says.

"That means you see me..."

"All the time."

There's a long moment of silence, and while the familiar feeling should be soothing, it's not.

I don't like this silence.

I liked the laughing.

And the talking. To someone other than myself. Not just imagined conversation of what I might say if someone ever actually spoke to me.

This man was speaking to me.

And I was speaking back.

I speak before I lose my nerve. "Why are you watching me?"

His eyes look up, meeting mine. I try to ignore the free-fall my stomach does when they make contact.

"Why are you watching him?"

I think about his question. I want to answer him, but I can't really tell him the truth. You know, because of the whole it-will-probably-make-me-sound-crazy thing.

But then again, maybe I am crazy.

Maybe he already knows it.

"I watch him because I find him fascinating."

He nods.

"But... Can I ask you a question?"

"I guess."

"Doesn't it ever bother you that he doesn't see you the same way?"

"No."

My answer surprises him. His brows lift, a crease forms on his forehead.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not fascinating at all."

There's a moment where everything seems to stop. Like, the song on the musak ends, and everyone around us grows silent. There are no sounds from the espresso bar, nothing at all. This is intensified by the sliding of his chair as he fully turns around to face me. His eyes are soft, and everything about him is intense.

"You're wrong," he tells me just as the next song starts to play. It's only background noise, white static to his words that are still trying to find their way inside me. "Everything about you is completely captivating."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I don't know what to say to him, so I just sit here, blushing like a virgin watching porn. I almost expect him to say something, to ask me what I'm thinking, but he doesn't. And now, that makes me want to know what he's thinking.

And then it strikes me that no one, no man, no boy..._no one_ has ever called me captivating before.

Not once.

Not ever.

But he just did.

I can't help the feeling I have of sheer excitement and...pleasure.

Yes.

That's what it is.

I am so pleased that he said that. And even more that he thinks it.

But now I'm wondering why he thinks it.

Before I can say anything, he says, "Can I buy you a drink?"

"No, that's okay," I tell him. "I already have one."

"No, you finished it like an hour ago."

"Oh." Fuck. I did. He really has been watching. "I can get my own."

"No." He smiles, blushing again just like me. "I'd like to if you'll let me."

"Okay."

"Good."

"I'll have a…"

"Grande, non-fat Chai latte," he finishes before I can.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" I ask, a little taken aback.

I don't know why, but it pops into my mind that even though I come here almost every single day and order the same drink from the same man, _that_ man has never once remembered my drink.

"I told you," he says softly. "I find you fascinating."

I smile because I can't help it. I bite down on my lip and try not to ask him why. Instead, I ask, "What do you drink?"

And he blushes again. But these pink cheeks are deeper than before.

"It's…embarrassing."

I giggle.

"Your drink is embarrassing?"

"Maybe."

"Well, now you have to tell me."

His overlong hair falls over his forehead just a little, and I feel my fingers itching to reach over and push it back. Mostly because I want to see his gorgeous green eyes, but also because I really want to feel his hair between my fingers.

"You really wanna know?"

"Definitely."

He grins.

"I drink a non-fat Café Misto."

I giggle, and his grin gets wider.

So wide, actually.

His smile is big and bright and apparently contagious because I'm smiling, too.

"What is _that_? It sounds girlie."

"It's not girlie," he huffs.

"Pretty sure I need to know what it is before I can make an informed decision. _Misto_ doesn't sound like something a cowboy would drink."

He laughs again.

It's pretty fucking amazing.

"Is this something I should be doing? Basing all my life decisions on what a cowboy would do?"

"Maybe not all your decisions. Just…some."

I grin and bite down on my thumbnail.

"I'll try to remember that."

"Good," I tell him. And all of this feels effortless. And the ease of it should feel weird like it did before, but it doesn't.

I just feel.

Right here in the moment…I'm feeling.

"I'll be right back," he tells me, standing up. And his ass looks pretty damn good in the tight jeans.

Fuck.

His ass is right at eye-level.

Thank god he starts to walk away.

I might have been more tempted to touch it than his hair.

"Wait," I call out, one again not caring if I'm calling attention to myself. "You never told me what a Café Misto is."

He stops and turns back to face me.

"Half coffee, half steamed milk."

"You're right," I tell him. "That's not a girlie drink. Cold milk is for pussies."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I watch him while he's at the counter. He's fidgeting. One black boot-covered foot rests on top of the other one. And his hands don't stop moving. Even his fingers. Which are ridiculously long by the way. I can't decide if he looks anxious or agitated. But before I can decide, it hits me.

I'm looking at this man and not my crush.

How is it even possible that I'm watching this person I don't even really know when I could be watching my guy?

_Because he's not really my guy._

The thought sticks in my side like a stitch.

It bothers me.

Even though I know it's true, a part of me can't help hoping that maybe he could be…one day. You know, whenever I find the courage to actually speak to him.

Or maybe he could actually speak to me.

And now I'm wondering why he hasn't.

Before the melancholy of my thoughts settle, the man I can – in fact – speak to turns around to smile at me. I don't know why, but for some reason, I'm happy I was looking at him and not the man behind him when he turned to face me.

He seems happy about it, too.

At least his smile tells me he seems happy about it.

He nods his head slightly back, in the direction of my crush. An incredulous look covers his face before he mouths the words, "_This guy_?"

I giggle.

I can't help it.

I nod my head in the affirmative, and he responds with another silent word. "_Really_?"

"_Yes_," I tell him.

He rolls his eyes, and turns to take our drink. I watch the whole interaction between the two of them. A part of me is nervous that he will say something to my crush about how I'm a creepy girl who's basically stalking him. I guess I'm safe because, just like always, my crush never looks up to see me. He just hands off the drinks and goes back to his normal routine.

I should feel relived, but I don't.

Why is it that now, after all these months, I'm irritated that he doesn't see me?

It doesn't make sense because I've never ever wanted to be seen before.

I look down at my folded hands until I see his shadow beside me. He takes his seat and places my drink on the table.

"Seriously," he says, laughing. "I can't believe you like that guy."

"What's wrong with _that guy_?"

"Nothing, if you're into self-obsessed assholes who only care about themselves and the next time they're going to get their dick sucked."

I gasp.

"He does not get his dick sucked!" I try to whisper it as harshly as possible. I want to make my point, but I don't want anyone else to hear me.

"Trust me," he says. "He's definitely getting his dick sucked."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask. "And how do you know he's…_doing that_. Or…well, having that done to him? There's no way you could possibly know that unless you were there. Or the one doing the sucking. Are _you_ sucking his dick? Is that why you have all this insider information?"

There's a moment of silence where I'm scared I went too far. Which is surprising since I am definitely not an envelope-pusher.

But he bursts out laughing, and then I'm laughing, too.

This whole…conversation is too much for me to process.

"I'm definitely not sucking dick," he says. "His, or anyone else's."

Relaxed.

I'm definitely, definitely relaxed right now.

"I don't even know your name," I muse. "How is it even possible that I am discussing sucking dick with you and I don't even know your name?"

His smile is sweet again.

"I didn't know if you wanted to know. You never asked."

I take a drink of my chai – my chai that he got me.

"I'm asking."

"My name is Edward, Bella. It's nice to officially meet you."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"How long have you been...you know...watching me?"

His fingers trace the green symbol on the cup. He's looking at it pretty intently. I don't know if he's embarrassed or just thinking about something else.

"Did you know that the emblem on this cup is a siren?" he asks, ignoring my question completely.

"No," I play along. "I didn't know that."

"Do you know anything about sirens?"

"A little, I guess. They're supposed to be like beautiful women or whatever."

"Yeah," he laughs. "Or whatever."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was going to be tested on Greek mythology today. Next time, I'll be sure to prepare."

Without thinking, I nudge the side of his leg with mine. I don't know why I do it, but I'm unprepared for the way touching him – even through the layers of our clothes - makes me feel.

It's like sitting next to him has made me forget that I have personal space issues at all.

"The sirens were captivating," he says, looking into my eyes. "They were so bewitching and alluring, that men would just come to their call, unwittingly walking into their own death."

I snort.

"Yeah, well, men are pretty stupid." I snort. It's super unattractive. "Present company excluded, of course."

"Of course."

He chuckles.

I like when he laughs.

"How do you know all this? Do you secretly own this coffee shop?"

"No. But I do know something about being so completely drawn in by a woman that I'm willing to die of embarrassment by talking to her."

I stare at him, not knowing what to say. I mean, what do you say to something like that?

So, I tell him the truth. "I'm not a siren. There's nothing intriguing about me at all. I'm pretty boring, actually. I'm honestly surprised that you would even think so. And, by the way, you never answered my question."

"You don't see yourself at all, do you?"

"I think we've already established that I'm much more adept at seeing others."

He moves his hand from the cup, and I watch as he places it over mine on the table. I want to pull back, but I like the way his hand feels over mine. I like how warm it is. I like the tingling sensation that shoots up my arm and neck and makes my hair stand on end.

"That's the thing, Bella. You're not really skilled in the art of seeing others. You see one. One person. And while you're watching him, you have this tunnel vision that doesn't allow you to see anything...or anyone else."

His thumb rubs over the back of my hand, and the difference in the way he's touching me and the words he's saying is jarring.

I can't tell what he's thinking, yet somehow I feel like he's completely transparent. He's not hiding anything.

I swallow loudly.

I lick my dry lips.

"And what would I see if I were looking around?"

His hand slides under mine, holding but not gripping. And this moment seems so much bigger than the space around us. He's not answering my question, it's almost like he's holding something back, waiting on something that I can't figure out.

But I realize I want to.

So, my cold fingers trace the lines on his palm, and then I squeeze his hand until I feel him squeezing back.

"You'd see me."

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Does it help that I'm seeing you now?" I ask.

My heart is pounding. It could be from all the caffeine, but I'm pretty sure it's not. I'm pretty sure my body stopped responding to that by the second month of coming here. So, it has to be him, right? It has to be the fact that for the first time in what seems like forever, I'm talking to a man.

A man who wants to talk to me, too.

And not only does he want to talk to me, but he's holding my hand. Or I'm holding his. And I don't even remember the last time something like this has happened.

"Maybe," he says. "It might. But we'll see how long it lasts. I mean, we are still sitting at the table that puts him in your direct line of sight."

"I always sit here."

His nose scrunches. I would find it cute if I didn't think it meant he didn't really like my response.

"I know."

"Well, where do you usually sit? I mean, I'm pretty sure I would have seen you. I know my attention might have been…otherwise diverted, but I'm pretty sure I would have at least seen you. You're something to see."

It's the understatement of the world, but his smile…

Yeah, it's better than the nose scrunch.

"I sit in one of the big leather chairs behind us."

I look back to the small sitting area with six brown leather chairs. They're filled with old men reading papers.

"Do you work on the crossword puzzle in your daily paper, Grandpa?"

I giggle nervously.

"I've been too busy trying to figure out a different kind of puzzle."

"And how is that working out for you?"

He squeezes my hand. I don't even care that it's sweaty. And the best part is that I don't think he cares either.

I'm also still amazed that I'm actually sitting here holding someone's hand. Someone I barely even know. I mean, that's crazy, right? Maybe just as crazy as creeping someone from a distance for months on end.

Okay. Maybe not.

"I'm not there yet, but I think I'm getting closer."

And I find that I _want_ him to get closer. Hell, I want to get closer myself. In fact, I'd like to be so close that there could be a possibility of touching more than his hand.

"Do you want to move?" I ask.

"Do _you_?"

"I wouldn't be _opposed_ to moving to one of the tables in the back. No one ever sits back there. And then, just so you know, there would be nothing in my line of sight except you and the parking lot outside the window."

"The parking lot is a better view than the one you've had," he says, nodding his head toward the bar.

"Why don't you like him?" I ask. "I mean, your anger toward him seems slightly irrational."

I'm not upset that he doesn't like him; I'd just like to know what drives it.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Nope."

I grin.

"Why not?"

"Because you never answer any of mine."

"I've answered your questions."

Shaking my head, I tell him, "No, you sidestep my questions. Don't get me wrong. The sidestepping is highly effective with your green eyes and disheveled hair and your…"

I stop before I embarrass myself.

Even though I should have given up on that the moment I realized he knew about my slightly creepy extra-curricular activity.

"My what?"

"No. I told you. I'm not answering any more questions."

"If you tell me, I promise that I'll answer any of your questions."

"Any of them?"

"Any of them."

"Fine. I'll tell you."

I'm blushing like mad.

"I'm waiting."

He grins.

"Your ass, okay," I say, pulling my hand from his and covering my face. "I might have been momentarily distracted by your ass." I peek at him through my fingers. "Are you happy now?"

"Yes," he says, pulling my hand away from my face and grabbing onto it again. "Though I have to be honest. My ass is slightly happier than me."

"Your turn."

"What?"

"Why don't you like him? What did he ever do to you?"

There's a long pause, and I can tell he's thinking about his answer.

I don't want him to think.

I just want him to tell me.

"I don't like him because he always ignores the one person I am incapable of ignoring."

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Two months," he says softly. "I noticed you two months ago and I've been watching you ever since."

We're sitting at the table in the far back. We're on the bench that's pressed up against the wall. And speaking of pressed, he is currently pressed right up against my side.

I sigh, relieved. Two months is a lot shorter than the length of time I've been watching Garrett. I'm happy he doesn't know that it's been that long.

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" he asks.

"What?"

"The fact that I've been…I don't know…basically watching you?"

My laugh is loud and sudden, and as I lean forward, he puts his arm behind me.

"Yeah, like I'd have any room to judge you for doing that. I mean, seriously. That's like the creeper getting pissed for being creeped."

His laugh is warmer than my latte.

"Okay," he says, his arm wrapping around me fully. "Good."

It's odd how content this feels when everything I know about myself tells me I should be uncomfortable. Although I've never really wanted or even liked physical affection, I suddenly crave it with him. And what's more than that, he seems to really want it, too.

"So, why did you keep watching?"

I reach over and grab his free hand.

I don't even think about it.

"You really want to hear this?"

"What do you think?" I ask. "I mean, if you were me, and let's be honest, I think we've established that you basically are, wouldn't you want to know?"

His blush, it kills me just a little.

"It's embarrassing."

"More embarrassing than the Café Misto?" I giggle.

"Maybe."

"Okay. More embarrassing than being distracted by your ass? Because that was pretty embarrassing. Besides, you told me you would answer all my questions if we moved."

He turns more toward me and I look up into his eyes. And this – this is so much better than watching anyone across the distance of a counter.

"I was here early one morning before class when I saw you. The line wasn't very long, but you were in the very back. I was in a hurry because I was running late, but something about you caught my attention. Maybe it was the way you didn't seem to be in a hurry like everyone else, but you shifted your feet from side to side like you were nervous. Or maybe it was the way your long brown hair was still a little damp and I could smell your shampoo…like green tea and honey.

"Whatever it was, all I knew was that I couldn't take my eyes off you. You ordered your drink and sat down at the table while I waited on mine. I still hadn't seen your face because you never really looked up. But then you did. It was just for a second, no time at all, really. But when you did, I finally saw you. And well…"

It's the most he's said to me at one time all day today. And I'm listening to him like he's reading a classic novel.

With no end.

He didn't finish his thought.

"Well, what?"

"Well, let's just say I didn't make it to class that day."

Shivers run up and down and all over my body.

And I'm amazed because none of what he's said sounds creepy.

"What did you do?"

"I wanted to sit beside you. I was just about to come over and introduce myself, but then I saw you look up again. Only this time, you were looking at him and not me."

"I'm sorry," I tell him honestly. Because I am. Because I really fucking am. "I'm sorry I didn't see you that day. And you know, all the other days after."

"It's okay."

I shake my head. "No. It's really not."

"You see me now," he says. "I mean, I hope you do."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah."

"When you were standing at the counter earlier, I was staring at you and not at him. And for the first time in a long time, I was thinking about someone – about you – and not him."

"He's a douche."

"Maybe," I tell him, thinking about everything that's happened. "Probably."

"But I'm really happy you were looking at me."

"Me too."

He slides his fingers between mine, and I watch the movement. I'm a little floored by the intimate gesture.

"Let's get out of here," he says. "It's still early. We could do something."

I grin.

"You mean like actually leave the coffee shop?"

He grins.

"I think we definitely need to get the fuck out of the coffee shop."

"What do you want to do?"

"Whatever you want, Bella," he says, standing up and pulling me with him. "I'm down for whatever you want."

It's odd how perceptions change. Even odder that mine seem to have done so in the short span of a morning and afternoon. But somehow I know that Edward's right. Maybe not about everything, but certainly about a lot of things. And a panoramic view is so much better than tunnel vision.

Choosing to look at someone when your choices are limitless, makes the choice that much more special.

Edward chose to look at me.

Right now, I choose to look at Edward.

My choice is fucking awesome.

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**Please leave me some.**

**Thank you for reading. And thank you for all the feedback and love. Your reviews made me smile all day. I wrote this little story for Laura, and I wrote it with her in mind. I'm so happy that you guys enjoyed it.**

**Thank you to Marvar for editing. She makes everything better (and readable) and I love her.**

**And thank you to JaimeArkin for pre-reading. She's amazing and I love her, too!**

**Happy Birthday Laura! ILYYYYYY SFM**


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